


downtown scenes, shady blue

by anatheme (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Actually not-unrequited love, Alternate Universe, Cardverse, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, Featuring my brot3, Genderbending, M/M, Oblivious!Arthur, Road Trips, Seriously the plot run away, arthur and lovina are bros nothing else just so you know, self-indulgent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/anatheme
Summary: He receives a text from Alfred.Come home, please.





	downtown scenes, shady blue

I.

  
There is a worn travelling bag by her hotel door and a man with a beaten guitar on his back.

  
“I’m coming with you,” he says. Lovina sees the tremor in his hands, hears the distant roaring of a whispered plea.

  
They leave; the city is a blur on the wet pavement. Hours later, there’s another knock on the door but this time, silence rang.

  
II.

  
“I’m surprised that Joachim didn’t come.” Arthur glances at Lovina. Their lackadaisical friend’s absence feels strange; Joachim is always joking about running away.

  
“Antonia’s his sister.” She offers and stuffs her mouth with a hotdog.

  
Courin is beautiful and old. Her beauty shines with her intricate architecture and sun-warmed cobblestones. She is not Spaden, and Arthur is thankful.

  
No one recognized them.

  
They sit on top of Lovina’s car as the purple skies burst with thousands of floating lamps, lighting the sky.

  
“Fucking waste, really.” Lovina grumbles, rubbing the tomato stain on her skirt., the errant curl of her hair bobs. Arthur isn’t sure what she is referring to, but her swearing is a grounding familiarity. He nods, “It’s beautiful.”

  
He sends a post card commemorating the Festival of Light to his family. He doesn’t send one to Alfred. The guilt never leaves.

  
III.

  
“Have you ever been in love?”

  
They’re in Cabal, a sleepy sea-side town on the border of Rosen. Lovina’s grandfather has a tiny cottage there and the locals think they’re a couple. Lovina snorts and strong-arms him to the next stall and picks a zuchinni.

  
“That’s stupid,” she says but she is thinking of a woman with the sun in her smile and a soldier’s grace. Arthur patiently holds the basket.

  
“Well,” Lovina pitches her voice low and Arthur has to listen well to catch it,”Don’t we all?” And louder, “Hold this, bastard.”

  
The old lady who didn’t speak an inkling of Englisc smiles approvingly at the two of them. In another world, he and Lovina could have been a couple, as absurd as the idea is.

  
His shoulders ache with the weight of the mark.

  
IV.

  
_Mama, let me have this. Please._

  
V.

  
He sits by the window, the gentle roll of the waves lulling the air. Arthur’s idly playing a tune while Lovina idly flips through the channels before pausing on the news. It is in Rosinni and Arthur can only manage the bare essentials to survive in the kingdom.

  
She tsks and he looks up, seeing Spaden’s crown prince’s handsome face as he is hounded by reporters. His answer is swallowed by the interpreter’s voice. Arthur stubbornly keeps his eyes on the screen even as his chest ached when Alfred gave a small laugh. The charming media smile firmly fixed on his lips.

  
“They’re asking for you.” Lovina breaks the silence. She glances at him, her eyes dark and burning.

  
Arthur sighs and sets aside the guitar. It had been a gift from Alfred from before. Back when they had been nothing but friends and Arthur never harboured anything but fondness and the momentary annoyance at the younger.

  
_What’d he say?_ He wants to ask, and there’s a hundred of ways to find out but Arthur holds his tongue. Hope is a thing with feathers; Arthur knows disappointment and heartbreak like a crash from the freefall.

  
“It’s been a week,” he offers. Lovina hums and gracefully stood from the couch, heading towards the kitchen. A moment later, she comes back armed with two bottles of her grandfather’s vintage wine and two glasses.

  
“To how fucked we are.” Lovina toasts, voice as bitter and heavy as the wine.

  
VI.

  
This is how they met.

  
She is barefoot, her silk slip dress the exact shade or Rosinni red pools att her feet. Arthur thinks that she is terribly lovely and terribly unlady-like.

  
“Look, miss,” he tries to guide her away from the pier. The party commemorating Spaden’s and Rosen’s Friendship a distant chatter. It is Rosen’s turn to host and the royal entourage of Spaden including the monarchs-in-waiting are there.

  
The woman flails and Arthur roughly avoids a punch to the face.

  
“Fuck off,” she growls, a finger stabbing his chest. “I am the granddaughter of King Romulus and the sister of the Jack-in-waiting so you don’t get to tell me what to do!” She marches towards the end of the pier in a flurry of Rosinni slurs and Arthur has to swallow the bite of annoyance at the thought of her jumping.

  
She has to be the Marquess of Sicinia. Arthur had ducked out of the party the moment their backs were turned for a walk down the beach. It was his luck to stumble at her swaying form.

  
“Fine,” Arthur growls. “Just don’t-“

  
“Have you ever been in love?”

  
His retort dies. The Marquess turns to look back at him. There is no moon and only the streetlights lit her form, her tear-streaked face and the challenging jut of her chin.

  
Arthur thinks of Alfred, seventeen, a Rosinni girl fluttering at his attention as he regaled her with a tale or two with Arthur relegated to nothing but a wallpaper behind him, and understands. He remembers seeing her in the party, the way she shot a look at the smiling Ace of Rosen across the dance floor, and thought her a kindred soul.

  
“Fucking thought so, bastard.” She laughs. Arthur watches her warily as she sits on the edge and pats the space beside her. He offers her his jacket. They sit side by side, the roaring of the waves a silent conversation between them.

  
VII.

  
He receives a text from Alfred. _Come home, please._

  
Lovina takes his phone and chucks it towards the nightstand.

  
VIII.

  
“Two weeks,” Lovina says. Arthur sips his tea and counts the ticking of the clock. The coronation and the subsequent marriage are barely six months away. Suddenly the idyllic world they both carved in Cabal is starting to crumble away.

  
“Antonia,” Lovina fiddles with her fork, eyes far away on the ocean. “She called me.”

  
“What did she say?” His fingers bump into hers.

  
“I don’t know. I didn’t answer.”

  
Kindred souls.

  
“How are your brothers?” A safer topic. Lovina shakes her head, reaching up to adjust her hair band.

  
“Piero has a new girlfriend and Feli’s worried but he’s busy with his duties..” She frowns down at her pasta, “Potato bastard’s been trying to get my approval of his and Feli’s courtship,” Lovina scoffs, “As if he deserved my fratello in the first place.”

  
Her fork makes a screeching sound against the porcelain and Arthur winces. Lovina’s disapproval for the King of Hearts’ affection is known. One memorable visit made Arthur a witness to how Queen Kiku had run interference between the two.

  
Unlike Spaden, the three other kingdoms didn’t call for a marriage between a king and a queen who are not bound by blood. He envies them, at times.

  
“And there’s the fucking paperwork.”

  
“How about Friday?” Arthur suggests, steeling himself, steeling them both. Already, he can see the headlines, the gossip and the rumors. The future Queen of Spaden and the Marquess of Sicinia caught in a torrid romance? What would the future King of Spades say?

  
His PA had been calling periodically to berate him and to tell him to take care of himself. Any pictures of the two had been tossed as fake; and Cabal was nothing if not loyal to her own.

  
Lovina swears, rubbing her eyes. There’s a crack of a smile on her orange-tinted lips. It matches the spot of paint on her hand.

  
IX.

  
Alfred is there when Arthur opens the door to his quarters. The Wisteria palace is buzzing at his escapade and he had weathered the King Mother’s gentle admonishment and his PA’s frown before he had to deal with his mama and his siblings. Even dear Matthew had called him reckless before embracing him. Only Queen David had given him an understanding nod.

  
When he was finally allowed, Arthur hurries past Alfred’s wing after making sure to avoid him all day, and into his rooms for some peace and quiet.  
“I promised dinner, didn’t I, Artie?”

  
Arthur bites back the urge to leave. The door is an inch away and he can turn on his heel and run. His sister would take him in if he promised to babysit his nephew. But it is cowardly and childish. Arthur had already run away; it is unbecoming how he is so easily undone by one man. _Arthur bloody Kirkland._

  
So he forces a foot forward and another and another, and meets Alfred’s eyes.

  
_Gods_ , Arthur thinks, they were bluer than the waters and the skies and Lovina’s grandmother’s blue diamond ring she wears on her middle finger.

  
“Alfred,” Arthur says, praying his voice won’t break, and looks at him. He is dressed in a simple white shirt, dark jeans, hair slicked back, his dog tags visible, and his glasses nearly slipping down the bridge of his nose. Arthur crosses his arms to stop himself from doing something stupid.

  
“Not even a ‘Hello Alfred, yes I miss you and I’m sorry for leaving you?’” There’s a smile on his face but a strange look in his eyes.

The night before he left flashes before Arthur’s eyes. Alfred inebriated with alcohol had kissed Arthur for the first time in their casual relationship. Both of them had been plastered, but Arthur vividly remembers the insistent press of his mouth against his as he pushed back into the lavish hotel sheets.

  
Come early morning, Arthur left.

  
“Don’t be a baby,” Arthur sighs, heading towards his bedroom to bathe, change, and sleep. He hates travelling by air. A hand on his arm stops him.

  
“Artie,” there’s the whine. “I prepared dinner.”

  
The balcony is lit with fairylights. On the table is a menu fit for a date complete with a small bouquet of roses. He spots wine. Arthur raises a brow, impressed.

When Alfred means to eat together in each other’s quarters, the food is always burgers and pizza. This looked homemade and not just something Alfred could request from the kitchens.  
Arthur remembers Lovina taking pity on him and promptly dragging him into an impromptu cooking lesson. He could make a decent meal now.

  
His stomach growls. Alfred shots him a triumphant grin and herds him towards the balcony with a hand on the small of his back. Arthur refuses to read into it, into anything.

  
X.

  
It doesn’t stop.

  
Alfred sticks like an incessant burr. Arthur supposes that he is practicing for their coronation and subsequent marriage. A show of camaraderie or, if the public wanted it, love. A show. That thought burns but Arthur smiles for the camera.

  
Even when they are arguing, Alfred will be beside him moments later.

  
In private, Alfred has taken to standing close and getting handsier. Too close, Arthur thinks as he moves farther on his seat, the words on the pages were starting to blur together with Alfred’s scent. Alfred takes that as an invitation to place an arm around his shoulders as he prattles on and on about renovations.

Yao who had taken the couch opposite them nods but his eyes flick towards Alfred’s arm.

  
Arthur subtly shrugs. He has no idea, really. If he were to shrug him off, Alfred would whinge about ghosts and latch like a limpet instead. Arthur is far too tired for his antics. It also reminds him of the fact that Alfred didn’t initiate anything vaguely sexual, not that he missed it.

  
_Be careful_ , Yao says without words.

  
“Well,” Joachim drawls when he calls him and Arthur can definitely hear him muffling his laughter. Arthur’s brow twitched. “I did say he is a puppy. Did you give him a treat yet?”

  
Arthur hangs up.

  
XI.

  
Lovina calls and her voice is cracking. He shuts himself in his bathroom. Alfred is outside, watching a movie.

  
“Lovina,” he whispers, “What’s wrong, love?”

  
There’s silence, and then, “If he courted you, what would you do?”

  
Arthur bites his lip, thoughts racing back to the bouquet of freshly picked queen’s roses and midday roses Alfred had shoved into his face the other day. Arthur, confused and hazy with lack of sleep, took one look and asked if he was missing an event before realizing that it was his mama’s birthday and had berated Alfred for not reminding before hurriedly wrapping the flowers and rushing to his mama’s house. Alfred had been pensive and silent after. It was strange.

  
Before that was a box of expensive chocolate Alfred had bought from Bastoni. Arthur had shared it with Matthew after seeing the poor lad nearly breaking down over a misplaced bouquet during a charity gala. He and Alfred nearly had a row over it. How can the idiot be so selfish? This was his brother for the gods’ sake!

  
He shakes his head. Knowing Alfred, he means nothing.

  
Arthur can see Lovina in the terrace of her home, smoking a cigarette. There is gossip about an upcoming engagement between Lovina and Francis ever since the paps spotted them in a restaurant during Lovina’s diplomatic visit. He guesses that Antonia finally made a move and restrains a breathless laugh for his friend.

  
“Take the risk.” He says wistfully. He hears a sigh.

  
“Romantic fuck,” Lovina murmurs, “Alright, I’ll update you with the tomato bitch.”

  
Five months left, Arthur thinks. He barely had any time for himself. Alfred’s strange incessant attentions whenever they have the time together, the preparations, interviews, meetings, the pressure-

  
“Fuck,” Arthur rubs his face, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

  
XII.

  
This is how it didn’t happen.

  
_I love you_ , Arthur wants to choke the words out like ash on his tongue. The sunset is beautiful, half the sky was afire.  
He is twenty and in love with a boy who will be his husband. He is twenty, silently loving a boy and damning himself with it. He is twenty, a crown prince for twelve years and baring his heart and soul. He is twenty and tequila burned his tongue with enough courage to say those words aloud. He doesn’t.

  
Alfred is seventeen, beautiful and golden. When he was born, they say that Spaden herself breathed with life. A kind heart for his people, a fair man- the makings of a good ruler.

  
This is how it happened.

  
Alfred is nineteen and the whole kingdom is celebrating his birthday and Arthur’s safety. The Joker’s laughter echoing as he returns their drunk and dazed prince.

  
It seems logical and easy. How they fell in bed together. But Alfred evades kissing because he believes that kisses should be reserved for the one you love.

The only consolation Arthur has is that Alfred knows the risk of taking anyone else out on dates or bedding them. It doesn’t stop his eyes from wandering to anyone who was not Arthur. His best friend, his future husband not by choice. Arthur is good at pretending that this didn’t bother him.

  
XIII.

  
“What the hell was that, Alfred?”

  
They are in the relative safety of the limousine with the partition firmly up. Arthur trusts Matthias and Timo not to say anything. He watches Alfred loosen his tie.

  
“What was what?” Alfred says nonchalantly. Arthur growls, itching to throttle him with his neck tie. Or smack some sense into him.

  
“King Ivan,” He sees Alfred’s hand form into a fist. “What the bloody fuck was that, Alfred? I thought I told you a thousand times, Alfred, to be a mature adult when it comes to the king of Bastoni! Do you have any fucking idea how many treaties you could have broken if you had punched him? It took us twenty years after the War of the Three Queens to cement any form of friendship with them, Alfred. When you’re king, don’t forget that.”

  
If it were not for King Ivan’s sister and the Ace of Bastoni, Countess Natalya, and the Queen of Bastoni, Elizaveta, there could have been a brawl.

  
Alfred is silent. His anger simmers until it bursts out of barbed tongues and flying fists. Arthur meets his glare with a sharp scowl.

  
“And suppose you know that with how you’ve been with Francis?”

  
Arthur’s teeth clacked together. He can hear the accusation. He sneers. “Unlike you, Francis and I are friends.”

  
Friends, and he uses the term loosely. They may fight all the time and Francis may be an incorrigible flirt and a pervert with a nudist streak who also has horrible tastes in romance and cuisine but he was a good and honourable man. King Ivan was polite but he and Alfred often clash with their views, and King Ivan himself admitted to Arthur that he liked to rile Alfred because ‘he is like a puppy, da?’

 

But gods, if he and Francis can be cordial with each other, Arthur expects Alfred to be mature. Queen Erika of Diamante is sixteen and far more sensible and wise than the blockhead here. Hell, even his little nephew, Jett, is more mature than this dollophead and he is _five_!

  
“Friend?” Alfred laughs bitterly. ”Is that what you call flirting, Arthur?”

  
Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and counts to ten. “Francis flirts with everyone, you git. And don’t change the topic.”

  
Alfred is silent, but this time his hand is clutching Arthur’s sleeve. They spend the entire car ride in silence.

XIV.

  
Lovina’s dress clashed with Arthur’s suit as they twirl around the dance floor. There’s a new diamond ring on her finger.

  
“She proposed?” He smiles, catching her hand in his. Lovina throws her head back and her laughter is lost in the music. Arthur swears that she is a child of Venus.

  
“Yeah, she fucking did. I swear nonno was trying to match that damn ugly fountain of his with his crying.”

  
Arthur snickers at the image. There’s a tap on his shoulder. A smooth voice, “May I cut in?”

  
The Ace of Rosen is a decorated general and her beauty is kind and deceptive as the rose tucked in her hair; her smile as sharp as her ceremonial axe. Joachim, who cuts a striking figure in his suit with his hair slicked back and an easy smile on his face, leads him to a tango.

  
“His Highness looks like he wants my head on his staff,” Joachim whispers when he dips him to the seductive sway of the music. Arthur’s attention is caught by Antonia and Lovina.

  
“Who?”

  
Joachim gave him a disbelieving stare before muttering something along the lines of a prayer.

  
“Joachim,” Arthur sighs, “I really have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, you prat.”

  
XV.

  
There’s a knock on his bedroom and Arthur is half-tempted to ignore it. He knows the pattern enough to say it is Alfred. He peaks at his watch. Two bloody am.

  
Another knock.

  
Growling expletives, Arthur swears that if this is a booty-call, he is going to throw that idiot down the balcony. Kingdom be damned. His cat, Crumpet, raises his head from his own bed to shoot him a displeased stare.

  
Arthur wrenches the door open. “What,” He snarls, promising murder. “The fuck do you want.”

  
His eyes adjust to the dark. Alfred in his ratty pyjamas, carrying pillows and a worn teddy bear, gives him a sad, sad look. “I can’t sleep.” Alfred says. The wanker.

  
Gods fucking damn, Arthur is always weak for that look. Puppy, Joachim laughs in his head. He could hear Yao and Matthew groaning in exasperation. Arthur debates on shutting the door and leaving Alfred to his devices. Even the faeries know how utterly pissed Arthur is for Alfred’s teasing about his tea time with the faeries. Just because the dunderhead couldn’t see them doesn’t mean they didn’t exist, hell, they were one of the few responsible for the system and-

  
Arthur steps aside. “Fine, but kick me and you’re dead.”

  
“Thanks, Artie,” Alfred cheers as he slips behind him. Arthur grunts, rolling over his side and tugging the covers to his chin. He feels the bed dip, feels an arm wrap around his waist over the covers and shoves a cold foot behind his knee.

  
“Night,” Alfred yawns, snuggling closer and Arthur feels sleep and wariness fight in his head. Too close, he thinks. When they were children, Alfred used to sleep with him every time he has nightmares.

  
_It’s like you’re in love with me._ Arthur violently crushes that thought before it takes seed and forces his body to relax. Alfred is warm and the nights before spring hails in Spaden is always cold. His breathing lulls him; a soft rocking of a wave idly crashing against the shore.

  
“Love you,” Alfred murmurs and there’s a soft pressure on the corner of his mouth and-

  
Oh, Arthur thinks, clutching the covers tighter. Fuck.

  
Alfred, despite all precautions, had ingested a love potion. Or worse, hit by a love spell.

  
XVI.

  
“Arthur, that’s ridiculous.” Matthew is frowning at him, his bear protesting half-heartedly in his arms. “Nothing can escape the protective sigils, not even the most powerful mage.”

  
Arthur has a large tome open on the table and he is flipping through the pages with alarming speed. “Matthew, dear, there are about fifty varieties of a love spell. Ten are subtle enough not to be detected by a sigils and there are ways to escape notice such as-“

  
“Breathe.”

  
“-Matthew, do you not understand how this can endanger the kingdom? We are three months away from the coronation and as history clearly shows, sabotages and assassination attempts are fifty percent higher during these times! That’s it, I’ll be needing Sigurd and Berwald-“

  
“Stop.” Arthur slaps Matthew’s hand away from his mouth with a grimace.

“No, Arthur. Stop. Is it so bad that my brother who has been an idiot for all these years is in love with you?”

  
Arthur’s hands ball into fists. They seem to have forgotten that Arthur, Captain Arthur Kirkland, is also a powerful mage in his own right. But it is illegal to cast a spell on someone, not even a detection spell, without basis.

  
“Ha ha. Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur tries to sound sarcastic but his voice is weak. Alfred loving him is akin to his own siblings turning into ducks. Matthew throws himself into a chair and shoves a pillow against his face and screams.

  
“Don’t do that,” Arthur chides. “You’re going to turn into a frog.” He ducks the pillow aimed at him.

  
“That is stupid, aru.” Yao says when Arthur brings it up during their tea time and hands him a folder.

  
“But the faeries-“ He hears a quiet offended yelp and Arthur apologises.

  
“Won’t stoop so low, Arthur. Now, read this.”

  
Sigurd’s unimpressed face could have been carved from stone.

  
“Are you doubting my work?” Sigurd’s voice is soft and deadly. Arthur is not afraid of him.

  
“Of course not.”

  
“Good, because His Highness may be as dense as Matthias but he is immune to any sort of manipulative spells. His mother, the king, have entered a ritual to do so in her first trimester with her sons. And no, he is not an impostor. Now excuse me, Your Highness. I’m busy.”

  
Impressed with the number of words the usually silent man had managed to say under a minute, Arthur lets him go.

  
He considers calling his siblings but Angus will take any excuse to beat Alfred for hurting his wee brother. Myfanwy, an Ordain member, would help. Aoife and Patrick, both part of the Spades Bureau of Investigation can hide the body. Their mama though would disapprove before criticizing their technique. Sometimes, Arthur wonders how he is related to a crazy family.

  
He does not dare call Lovina or Joachim. Francis- he’d rather hang himself. The rest of the monarchs are simply out of the question.

  
“Hey, Artie!”

  
Arthur turns on his heel and leaves. He cannot deal with Alfred right now. The blue will choke him to death.

  
XVII.

  
“A beach house,” Alfred announces.

Arthur pauses his absent humming, eyes flicking at the top of the document. Alfred is reclining on his couch after dragging Arthur in his quarters. He is playing with a worn orange ball, tossing it in the air and catching it. Arthur vaguely remembers a child Alfred with big blue eyes and so eager to please.

  
He puts his pen down. “I beg your pardon?”

  
Alfred turns to look at him. His eyes are soft and dark and terribly warm, his skin golden. Arthur looks down, feeling a paperweight lodge in his throat.

  
“You like the sea, no, you always loved the sea so much that sometimes I get jealous. I remember when I was ten, you told me that someday, you’re going to have a big ship and we will sail the world.” Alfred turns so he is fully facing him.

  
“Oh?” Arthur puts the paper down to hide the shaking of his hands. Alfred’s eyes track his movements and he feels his gaze on his bare neck.

  
“Yeah,” Alfred murmurs. “I remember how happy you were to be a part of the Navy. In that damn uniform, gods, Arthur.” The husky grate of his voice sends shivers down Arthur’s spine and he has to fight the blush making its way on his ears and cheeks.

  
Arthur coughs, “Well, what does it have to do with a beach house?”

  
“Gods, you’re so cute.” Alfred winks, ignoring Arthur’s sputtering. “I mean, we don’t have to live all the time in this palace right? We can have a tiny beach house by the Walen coast. You love that place, right?”

  
Arthur does. His childhood before the marking was spent on that tiny coastal town. He misses the white cliffs, the Spaden blue waters, chasing the waves back into the sea, his mama’s wild unbound hair fluttering in the breeze as she warns her children not to go too far or the mermaids won’t let them go.

  
The first and only time he told Alfred of his dream to live there again was when he was fifteen and tasted rum for the first time. No, he thinks, nails biting into his palm, this was just a coincidence-

  
A broad hand on his face, a rough thumb brushing his cheek. Alfred smells of musk, leather, and the expensive cologne he inherited from his father. His eyes are so blue and so beautiful not even the crown jewels can rival them.

  
Arthur places both hands on Alfred’s chest and shoves.

  
“Artie?”

  
“No.”

  
“What is- wait, was I being forceful? Oh gods, I’m so sorry-“

  
“Alfred. Shut up.”

  
He does and takes a step back. Arthur rises from the chaise and turns to face the window, steeling himself. He sees a faerie wave encouragingly at him before disappearing. Such fate, his nerves are eating him alive.

  
“Alfred, what were you doing these past five months?”

  
“Arthur, what-“

  
“The touching, the gifts, the hovering and you getting all,” Arthur waves a hand in the air. “It’s not like you, Jones.”

  
“Seriously?” Then louder, ”What the fucking hell. Seriously Arthur?”

  
Arthur flinches. He already knows what is coming. He hears footsteps and suddenly, Alfred is in front of him, towering over him, hands clutching his elbows and nearly shaking him.

  
“Alfred,” Arthur whispers but Alfred makes a noise, closing his eyes and breathing hard, trying to calm himself.

  
“Arthur,” Alfred presses his forehead against his. “You dummy, I’ve been courting you.”

  
The clock strikes midnight.

  
“Why?”

  
Alfred's eyes flutters open. There are freckles dusting his pink cheek and nose, his wheat blonde hair falling on his forehead, his glasses press on Arthur’s skin. Arthur is tempted to pull on that stubborn cowlick and kiss his freckles. Damn him.

  
His heart is a screaming hummingbird.

  
“Why are you even asking? I love you.”

  
“No you don’t.”

  
Ah, he misses that frown. Alfred makes an irritated noise and his hands move to cup Arthur’s. Arthur tries to slip out of his hold to no avail. He turns away.

  
“Yes, I do. Now stop cutting me off and running away, Artie. You really hurt me when you left me in bed five months ago and run away with that girl.”

  
“Oh, bugger off, Alfred.” Arthur snaps. He ignores the pinched hurt on Alfred’s face. “First, how many times do I have to tell you that Lovina is one of my best friends who gladly let me have a vacation that I desperately needed away from you. Second, you rejected me. You threw my love for you in my fucking face. How many times do I have to watch you flirt with someone else, Alfred? So if this is just a game or a consolation prize to you, kindly fuck off.”

  
Arthur wrenches himself away and marches towards the door. His blood rings in his ears and his eyes burned, but like bloody hell would he give Alfred the satisfaction.

  
“Is that what you really think?”

  
His hand stills on the doorknob.

  
“When you went missing a year ago, I thought the world can stop if it couldn’t give you back to me. That’s when I realized that I had been stupid and I should have treated you better and I should have told you I love you. You were my first, you know? When the Ordain found you on my birthday, I swore that I was going to be good enough for you even if I had it backwards.”

  
Alfred chuckles. “But you made it difficult, you know? And I was scared so I keep fucking up. You leaving with Lovina made me realize that I should do my hardest to win you back even if I have to fight someone else because I’m a selfish person and I don’t want to lose you, Artie.

Mattie and Yao were getting annoyed with me, you know? Mom and Dad were already betting on us. I even asked your family for their blessing.”

  
He hears Alfred’s cat, Burger, mewl. Arthur lets go of the doorknob, heart in his ears.

  
“So yeah,” Alfred continues, “Please believe me, Artie. Cos I love you very much and I’m trying my damnedest too. If you say no, I’ll back off.” His voice wobbles, “But I’m not going to give us up easily.”

  
_Take a risk_ , his own voice whispers in his mind. Arthur licks his lips, throat dry.

“Okay,” he says. He is weightless. A feather. When Alfred takes him into his arms agains, he lets himself melt in the embrace.

  
XVIII.

  
“Pay up, Angus.”

  
Angus pouts but surrenders the money. Myfanwy cackles gleefully, Jett who is asleep on her lap, blinks up drowsily at her mum and uncle. Those famous Kirkland brows furrowing. “Mum, wha?”

  
His Uncle Patrick plucks him and Jett settles his head on the crook his uncle’s neck, yawning. His Aunt Aoife is shouting funny words at Uncle Arthur while they are bent over a big book while simultaneously chatting with two other people on the computer. Adults are so weird.

  
XIX.

  
Sarah Williams-Jones, the 150th King of Spades, who Matthew had inherited most of his features, quirks a brow at her eldest.

  
“Courting, dearest?”

  
“Yes, mom.” Alfred has a determined glint in his eyes. David likes to remind her that he inherited that look from her. Sarah smiles. Her boys are growing up.

  
“Arthur,” she says, delighting at the flush rising on her son’s face at his fiancé’s name. “Is secretly fond of roses.”

  
(Five months later, the future Queen of Spades and Crown Prince, Arthur Kirkland, sends her roses enchanted to suspend themselves in the air.)

  
XX.

  
There is a small house by the Walen coast occupied by a widow and her brood. Siofra Kirkland cradles her sniffling son, gently pressing a cold compress on the tender skin of his back.

The mark of Spades would burn until it scars. Siofra aches to take the pain from her baby. Angus and Myfanwy had put the twins back to bed and is now trying to distract their brother from the pain.

  
A knock breaks the silence.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Salvatore by Lana del Rey, and yes, that scene from Tangled inspired this fic.
> 
> If you see anything wrong with the grammar, please tell me so I can fix it wheb I have the time :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Edit: I've received comments how this fic is kinda confusing, which, my bad. so have a sneak peak on my notes :)
> 
> \- basically, arthur + alfred are marked as the next royalty. arthur was born to a single mom who is also a magical practitioner in a seaside town  
> \- marks take the shape of burned scars = aka painful af   
> \- no one knows what the shape each royal mark is so they have this compass + magical map used by the court mage which points who is the next royal  
> \- arthur + alfred kinda grow up together, arthur fell in love with alfred even though alfred didn't show any interest...they became friends with benefits  
> \- arthur + lovina are friends. it was arthur's wish to forget everything even for a second and pretend to be normal before the coronation because once you are crowned, you are no longer free. lovina did it cause she's kinda done with the usuk drama + arthur's sulking and also because she can duh  
> \- but it was kinda sanctioned by the monarchs so no manhunt occured  
> \- when arthur was gone, alfred had an epiphany??? ok so he was in love all along but can't say it even tho they're already in a relationship so he decided that yeah let's make this more official  
> \- so they did and everyone's involved is all 'yay'  
> \- p.s. Joachim is my name for Portugal

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [smile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12165165) by [ForLoveOfLiberTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForLoveOfLiberTea/pseuds/ForLoveOfLiberTea)




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